When life gives you cannibals
by The Sangheili Mutant
Summary: *set after X-Men: The Last Stand On the 2 year anniversary of one of the most infamous battles between humans and mutants, Pyro shows the newest Brotherhood recruits the sight of the memorialized island. But after a bout of PTSD leaves Pyro shell shocked, the group leaves the island, only to crash in the middle ofthe New Mexican desert, where the hills...have many eyes.
1. Chapter 1: Alone

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Marvel's characters. The only ones I own are my OC's (mutant and otherwise). I swear the OC's aren't Mary Sue's or Gary Stu's! They're like new mutants in the movies, you gotta give them a chance!

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><p><strong>When life gives you cannibals<strong>…

Chapter 1: Alone

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><p><strong>2 years ago<strong>

The first thing his mind registered was the profound silence surrounding him as he slowly regained consciousness. Not the coolness of the earth he was limp against, not the bleeding gash down his face, not the smell of blood and ash and death. He wanted to open his eyes, to survey the damage done, but the darkness pulled him under again in its warm embrace.

After an immeasurable amount of time, his eyes fluttered open, showing him a black sky dotted with a handful of twinkling stars. All he did was blink and breathe for a couple minutes, waiting to see if he would lose consciousness again. There was also a surprising lack of physical pain; just a stinging ache on his forehead, and an itching sensation on his hands. Aside from those sensations, he didn't feel he was dying, so sitting up was the next option. He proceeded slowly, trying to minimalize the sudden bout of dizziness.

He looked down at himself to check for other injuries. His hands were numb and frostbitten, a scarring reminder of his fight with Iceman…which was probably how he got the big ass gash across his handsome face. It wasn't bleeding that bad, but that didn't mean it stopped hurting. He felt around some more, and was relieved to detect zero broken bones or anything more severe. After a deep inhale, he decided to try his luck and stand up. He got up to his full height, but that was when his legs started to shake. He didn't want to fall, so he threw out his arms and managed to stabilize himself before a humiliating flat-on-his-ass-fall could befall him (no pun intended). He breathed heavily through the vertigo that swam through his head, and once it finally assed, he looked around through the nighttime darkness.

No soldiers, No X-Men, no Brotherhood in sight. The ground was littered with debris from the half…he guessed 'vaporized' Worthington Labs and the dozens of cars he incinerated as Magneto flung them around from the bridge. What the hell happened after he lost to his old friend?

The sound of approaching sirens in the distance caught his attention, and he turned his head in the direction of the wails. Police, and the Fire Department, the two he knew by heart. While the sirens sounded nearly identical, an experienced ear like his could pick up the slight audible differences. A helicopter's droning engine also caught his ear, and that was when he started to panic a bit inside. He couldn't see a way out of this that didn't get him shot, cured, or arrested. Though he'd never admit it, weaponizing the cure was actually a pretty smart move on the humans' part. Was it cheating? Yes…but it was effective. He could clearly remember half the Brotherhood forces being essentially wiped out within seconds of their rampage; their cries as the drug stripped them of their mutated DNA, made them powerless, weak. Human.

The sirens were getting louder as each second ticked by, and he just stood there, thinking back on the events of the fight. He looked up to the bridge, sighing in relief as he saw the unused cars slowing the authorities down. This gave him a little time to escape, the only question was 'how'. He couldn't walk across the bridge, he couldn't teleport, and there was no way he could make the swim across to land. He was in a jam, a pickle, a conundrum, and he started to panic more. Should he burn his way across the bri…where the hell were his igniters, anyway?

He spun around, scanning the ground fervently, and his heart sunk a bit when he saw them, broken, layered in ice, in pieces.

'_It was probably a suicide mission anyway_.' he thought, snarling as the flashing lights got brighter. He looked around the immediate area for a magical escape hatch, but was only faced with the grim aftermath of junk, ashes, and blood-soaked earth.

Was that all that survived the war? Were Magneto, Callisto, Arclight…Bobby, Storm…were they all dead? Was he the soul survivor? If so, what made him so special?

The screech of cranes and tow trucks sounded, clearing a path through the erratically parked vehicles. He could hear some commands being shouted above all the noise, but he couldn't distinguish any words. And this was the worst possible moment for a migraine to start making a home in his head, annoying, stabbing pains. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, only to immediately draw it back and hiss in pain. Stupid frostbitten hand, and _stupid_ gash! "Shit, shit, shit!" he whispered, biting his lip until the pain dulled.

The bridge work was going at a slow, but steady pace, chipping away at the 'dam' between him, and the pathetic forces of authority the humans constantly loved and defied all at once. The wind started to gently blow now, pushing the various stenches of the battle ground away. He let out a tired exhale, he was too tired to put up a fight in this condition. So with that, he steeled his nerves, set his jaw, and marched toward his fate, whatever it may be. He was done, he had no way out.

He got closer and closer to where he and Magneto stood side by side, raining Hell on their opposition. His hands were raised unhappily above his head to show those he'd encounter that he wasn't a threat. And the closer he got, the more people started to notice him, stopping what they were doing to gawk at him like drooling idiots. It was really fucking irritating.

"Can someone, uh, get me a Band-Aid?" he asked, knowing he'd need stitches, and not just a patch of gauze on tape. Unsurprisingly, a ton of rifles and pistols focused on him as the cops and soldiers moved in front of the fire fighters.

"Get down on your knees!" a cop shouted, and the encounter at Bobby's house flashed before his eyes for a moment. Things were simpler back then, being on the run from a psycho soldier who brainwashed mutants was a cake walk compared to the life he was facing now.

"Hands in the air!" another cop chimed in.

"They already are." he mumbled, lowering himself to his knees like a coward. Four cops and two soldiers approached him, all threatening to blow his head off if he so much as twitched a millimeter. While under the cover of the others, one brave cop circled him and cuffed him, enjoying the winces Pyro involuntarily produced. God, he wanted nothing more than to just blow them all away in waves of scorching infernos, but that was out of the question, and it pissed him off.

After being hauled to his feet, he was led through the crowd of spectating officials. They looked at him like he was some deformed zoo animal or something! The cop jerking him around was blabbing into his ear, but he didn't pay attention. He was fucking mortified, and for a minute, he was glad Magneto couldn't see him like this. He was forced to stop next to a cop car and was pushed into the back seat, the door slammed in his face. With an emotionless sigh, he rested his head against the window, feeling every ounce of pressure it put on his bloodied forehead. He glanced down at his cuffed hands…his blue, black, purple, and white splotched hands. A pang of rage burned in his gut at the sight. How bad did Bobby maim him? Was the frostbite major, and would it scar? He could see where Bobby grabbed his wrists, even in the shitty excuse for light around him. There were thick, black bands where his wrists were, and he could feel a painful tingling in his fingers.

A knock on the window startled him and he looked up, not at all expecting to see Storm of all people standing there. She opened the door and leaned don, taking in his appearance, and her staring was unnerving to him. Regular people staring at him didn't bother him this much, but her, it was like she could see into him. Just like the Professor, or even Mystique with her weirdly hot (did he seriously just think that?) reptilian eyes.

"You've been down there this whole time?" she asked, breaking the silence as they stared at each other.

"Been coming to every so often. Didn't have the strength to get up." he replied, looking away. Not in shame, it was something else, something more.

She lightly prodded his face, tracing the cut all the way down to his right cheek bone. "Does this hurt?" she asked during the examination.

"No." he said, half lying.

"Okay." she replied with a nod. She removed her fingertips from his face and looked down at his handcuffed hands on his lap. "Did Bobby do that?"

He nodded, sighing.

"May I see them?" she asked. He looked at her suddenly, feeling incredibly vulnerable at the moment, but he raised his hands toward her, giving her permission. She held his arms an inch under his wrists, avoiding the damaged areas above.

"Is it bad?" he asked, truthfully unsure about the severity.

"The frostbite on your wrists is more severe than what's on your hands." she said.

"Okay, doctor. I'm sure I'll get treated in prison." he replied with a half eye roll and pulled his hands away.

"John, this is serious. You could lose your hands." she said, her voice getting stern. He gulped, starting to feel anxious and nervous and scared as all hell as he looked down at his wounds. He couldn't lose them! He needed them to whip out his lighter, or for his new igniters!

"Won't my body temperature just reheat them?" he asked.

"The minor frostbite, maybe. But your wrists, and other bigger areas? I doubt it. If it didn't cause any further damage, your hands could be saved."

"Well then get me out of here. Patch me up at the school, I promise I'll be a good little boy scout." he said, crossing his heart.

"Let me talk with the police." she said, turning to leave.

"Wait." he blurted, wanting an answer to a suddenly important question. She faced him, doing a bad job at hiding her impatience with him. "Who won?" he asked, finally making eye contact with her. She glanced away for a second as her face softened, and he knew something bad was about to come out of her mouth.

"Magneto's cured. Jean's dead. Dozens of people were disintegrated, John. Nobody won." she said, walking away.

The words hit him like a brick. _Disintegrated_? He shook his head in disbelief. How many fallen mutants had he walked through down there? And Magneto was…human? Mystique was human, the rest of the Brotherhood was either human or dead. And if any escaped, he doubted he'd be able to find them. He hung his head at the realization that he was truly alone. His friends hated him, his allies were dead. He suddenly wished Storm was back, he had so many more questions he needed answers to, dammit!

He looked around at the blur of bodies running to and fro, becoming aware Storm had left the door open. He could slip away and nobody would notice. But he had nothing waiting for him out there…maybe he could find Mystique. Raven. Whatever she decided to go by nowadays was fine with him, if he could even find her. She might have moved away from New York entirely, which was really far from his current locale.

Storm's back was still to him, and no one was keeping an eye on him…so lazy. He got up, still expecting someone to push him back into the car. He zigged and zagged through the crowd, blending in amongst the different uniforms, becoming a needle in a haystack.

He needed to get away from all this, and he sure as hell wasn't going back to the school. No fucking way.

* * *

><p><strong>1 year, 11 months, 29 days ago <strong>

He somehow managed to get off the bridge without being spotted. They didn't even know he was gone, no alarms were raised. He soon broke into a car, hijacked it with practiced ease (even with his tingly, bound hands), and drove away from the past chapter of his life.

After a couple hours behind the wheel, he crossed into the Nevada border, low on gas. It was now dawn, and the adrenaline from the previous night's events was wearing off. He smiled to himself at the irony of the situation. Wasn't leaving the X-Men what got him into this mess? And yet, here he was, doing it again.

'_Oh, grow up. You can take care of yourself, you don't need them_.' he thought, rubbing away some of the dried blood near his nose awkwardly with both hands. He examined the injury in the rearview mirror, grimacing at how deep and nasty it looked, and at his paleness. He definitely needed stitches, just as he had thought.

An approaching whirring sound caught his attention and he looked up, groaning as he saw the X-Men's jet lowering into view about a football field's length ahead of him.

'_Bitch, just leave me alone_.' he silently whined, pulling up near the suspected landing zone. Time to get this over with. The dry desert ground crunched under his shoes as he got out of the car and sauntered over to the parked jet. The ramp lowered as he got closer and Storm came outside, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Miss me already?" he yelled, taking his sweet time in approaching her.

"John, please. This is crazy, even for you. Do you really think you can drive across the country? You're a wanted fugitive, a wounded one." she yelled back, taking quick steps forward.

"Are you going to turn me in?" he asked, not moving any closer. She paced forward until she was directly in front of him.

"I should, but I won't. Not until I patch you up." she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked at her warily, observing her body language for a minute. Was she telling the truth? Would she help him? He didn't want to go to one of those mutant prisons, that was for fucking sure. The thing that bothered him was that he knew he needed help; her help. And she knew it, too.

He allowed himself to be taken aboard the jet and plopped into the seat she pointed to. After a brief absence, Storm returned with a first aid kit.

"Just give me a mirror, I can do it myself." he said, his pride was coming back. He wasn't a scared little kid, he was motherfucking Pyro.

"Just let me, okay?" she asked, sounding annoyed with him. He rose his linked hands in mock surrender and leaned back in the chair, waiting. The seat was pretty uncomfortable; it was hard and oddly contoured. Storm leaned closer and dabbed at his gash with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, causing him to release a chain of cursing and other choice words as he screwed his face up at the stinging pain. She was wiping away the dried bits of blood, too, working professionally. The cotton ball lifted away and he opened his eyes to the sight of her sterilizing a needle. No words were spoken between them as she threaded the needle and steadied his head.

"Let me know if you need me to stop." she said. He looked over at her, giving her a non-verbal 'go ahead'. The needle was pushed through the ripped skin above his left eye and he winced, not realizing it would hurt quite that much.

"Son of a bitch." he muttered, clamping his hands down on the arm of the seat.

"Sorry." Storm apologized, putting the needle through his forehead again.

"Got any painkillers? Booze?" he asked, opening his eyes again.

"Sorry, no." she replied, again sticking the needle through his skin.

"Jesus, fuck, ow!"

"I'm going as fast as I can."

'_Oh, this is going to be a long, fuck-tackular day_.' he thought in frustration as he tried to escape to a mentally happy place. But everything came up blank as he realized he didn't have one anymore. Maybe he never did…

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><p>AN: So, this is going to be a X-Men/The Hills Have Eyes crossover. Not a common mix, but what the hell, that's just how I roll. If you haven't seen the Hills Have Eyes (especially the remake, which, coincidentally has Aaron Stanford and thus inspired me to do this), then watch it. The remake is what I was envisioning as I wrote this.


	2. Chapter 2: Criminal

Chapter 2: Criminal

**1 year, 10 months ago**

Storm was true to her word, and turned him in to the police, that bitch! He didn't even get the chance to leave the state!

The minor frostbite on his hands had healed nicely to, allowing him to be cleanly fingerprinted. Not that he'd never been fingerprinted before.

As he sat in an interrogation room, waiting for some bozo cop or fed to come in and play 20 Questions, he stared at his reflection, at his war wound. Even if the gash healed properly, which it probably would given Storm's professionalism, the scar would be ugly and fairly visible, like a birth defect. People would stare, mutants would stare, Bobby would guiltily stare.

He could feel the room growing colder as the cops lowered the thermostat behind the glass. That trick would work on anyone else, but not him. He could be frozen solid and eventually thaw himself. The door finally opened a couple seconds later and a well-built man with blonde hair and an expensive-looking suit entered, sitting across from him.

"John Allerdyce. Looks like it's my lucky day." he said as he set some files and folders down. He already knew what was inside them: crime scene photos and police reports of all the arsons, thefts, and murders he had committed since he was forced to fend for himself on the streets at the age of twelve.

"I must say, I'm not really a fan of your work. Burn victims are one of the worst." the fed said, opening a file and showing him pictures of bodies charred beyond recognition. "These two," he said, holding up one of the photos, "were your very own parents. Flesh and blood. You must be one cold-hearted psychopath." he stated, staring into John's eyes, studying for any micro expressions that gave any emotion other than boredom.

"They were abusive drunks. Barely remembered to feed me, even as a baby. When they saw me playing with fireballs rolling up and down my arms, they lost their shit. Nearly beat me to death and dumped me in a gutter. I was pissed, they deserved what I gave them." John said, smiling a little at the memory of their deaths.

He confessed to every other crime the man presented him with, ranging from shoplifting to murder. He had no way out, so he just rolled with it. After all, he was responsible.

The fed left, satisfied, and left him alone in the room. John sighed and closed his eyes, wanting this to be over. '_Just lock me up and be done with it_.' he thought, cracking his neck. He knew he could handle himself in prison, even without a lighter. He wasn't a scrawny little kid anymore. He was lean, fit.

The trial was a speedy one, he plead guilty, proving a jury obsolete. He was sent to New York City's Maximum Security Mutant Institution, which was just a fancy name for 'mutant concentration camp'.

A month passed where he was used as slave labor alongside a hundred other incarcerated bastards. Everyone was kept in their own almost too small room with a cot and a bucket. And the meals were bland, but better than starving. And after that first month, he heard he had a visitor.

He was lead to the previously unseen visitation room, still wearing his wrist and ankle shackles, and was pushed into a seat where a guard stood directly behind him. He tugged absently at the collar of his bloody, sweat-stained, dirty uniform as he waited, getting fidgety. Who the hell was visiting him, and why now?

A door opened and another guard came over, ushering over…no way…

"Thank you." Professor Xavier said, sitting down. The two mutants looked at each other, one with concern and pity, the other with pure shock. What happened to the wheel chair? How was he alive?!

"So…you're my lawyer or something, Professor?" he asked, trying to get over his unease by cracking a wise-ass remark.

Xavier looked up at the two men. "Could you gentlemen excuse us for a minute?"

Pyro smirked, knowing the guards wouldn't leave their posts even if their dicks were on fire. Imagine his surprise when the two walked over to the other side of the room, then his stupidity at remembering how strong of a telepath he was talking with.

"So, Storm said you were dead." he blurted.

"For a short while, I was. I was just a consciousness without a body." Xavier replied.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what freaky mojo brought him back all shiny and new.

"I'm here to offer a proposition." Xavier replied, placing his hands on the table.

"I'm not the marrying type." he replied.

Xavier's face showed not even a crack of a smile. "I had a talk with the District Attorney, who, after some convincing, was willing to let you be released to the school under house arrest."

"No deal." he answered quickly, wishing he could cross his arms for emphasis."

"No?" the Professor asked, not really surprised.

"Use your head. A traitorous, convicted killer like me would be crucified at your perfect little school." he said, unable to keep the hateful tone from pushing through.

"I can make sure that wouldn't happen."

"I said 'no'. I left for a reason, and I'm not going back for the same reason. I don't belong there." he said, starting to feel frustrated.

"I can still get you out of here, get you a new start." the Professor suggested.

"Ha. Right. New start. Sure, why not?" he said. Anything was better than fucking _here_.

**1 year, 7 days ago**

He went to the concrete bunker that housed the Brotherhood, and had been living there for almost a full year now. He much preferred the solitary forest to solitary confinement, and the canned food stored here was better, too.

Every once in a while, a mutant or two would drop by, wondering about the Brotherhood, wanting to join, but he would wave them off. The Brotherhood didn't exist anymore.

He was sitting comfortably in a lawn chair near the bunker's entrance, grateful for the spare lighter he had kept underground as he played with it. Who knew tossing a fireball in your hands like any other ball could keep you occupied for so long?

"Excuse me?" a man asked from behind.

"Sorry, we're no longer taking recruits. Try your luck somewhere else." he said, not turning his attention away from the dancing flame in his hands. How on Earth these guys knew where this place was, he'd never know.

"Not even for a former member?" the man asked.

Pyro looked up, curious. He turned around as his fireball poofed away. "Holy…no way! James?" he asked, rising to his feet quickly.

"Howdy." the duplicator said with a smile.

"How did you…" he started to say.

"I had some help busting out." Multiple Man said, motioning for someone to come forward.

He gawked in shock when Mystique emerged in her full, mutated beauty. After a couple seconds, he closed his mouth after realizing it had fallen open.

"She busted me out last week." Multiple Man said, starting to ramble about the process, but Pyro barely heard him, trying not to stare at Mystique like a drooling oaf.

"How are you…you know, back to normal?" he asked.

"That's the brilliance of humanity's errors at work." she said.

"Guess the cure's only temporary." Multiple Man said.

The two of them approached him, and they all exchanged respectful handshakes and who-gives-a-shit-if-this-is-too-long hugs.

"So how has your past year been? As fun as ours?" Mystique asked.

"Got a free month or two? It's a long story." he said, and grabbed two more chairs from inside the bunker.

The three mutants exchanged their past year's 'pleasantries' and reminisced on some of their better moments together from before Alcatraz. James was incarcerated at a different prison up until Mystique recently reacquired her abilities and posed as the warden to get him out after some research and wanting to reconnect. _Raven_, on the other hand, was on the verge of suicide after many failed attempts at assimilating into human society. She was actually tying her own noose when she noticed the first blue scales reappearing!

When Pyro informed them on the battle, he caught them glancing at his scars every fem moments. "Do you wanna touch them or something, James?" he asked, noticing the younger of the two was staring more.

"What? No. No!" the duplicator insisted, looking down awkwardly.

"Here, get it out of your system. It won't hurt." he said, shoving a hand forward.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Multiple Man softly touched the almost glossy patched of scarred skin that marred the back of Pyro's hand, then the rougher black skin on his wrists. "What's it like to have frostbite that bad? Did it hurt?"

"Hurt, no. The tissue damage was so severe I couldn't feel a thing." he answered, pulling his hand back. "Still can't feel my wrists. Constantly have to check them, make sure they're not scratched or something dumb like that." he added.

"So what happened after Alcatraz?" Mystique asked, prompting him to explain his time as a convict and his lonely, but content life in the forest.

"Has Erik tried to contact you?" she asked.

"Nope. Don't really care if he does or doesn't." he replied snappishly, standing up and stretching his cramped muscles.

"Woah, hostility." Multiple Man observed. "Isn't Magneto, I don't know, like your muse or something?"

"Not anymore. He's dead to me." he replied, heading underground with his lighter. He flicked it open, hoping the tiny flame would calm his sudden rage at Magneto. How could he just leave him on the island, or not even a message in prison? He could've sent someone to at least see how he was doing!

After a couple minutes, Mystique came down and sat next to him on the floor, her hands in her lap while he had one knee drawn up to his chest. The two of them were quiet for a while, staring at the flame in Pyro's palm.

"You know," he began, still looking down, "when we left you…that day…I was beyond pissed at Magneto. We had a pretty intense screaming match. It was wrong to leave you there, I know that must have sucked."

" 'Sucked' is putting it mildly. I was stranded, naked and powerless in the middle of the road." she described. He was starting to feel guilty again and he turned his head away. "But I don't blame you. You're just a kid, following the lead of his boss. You don't need to be sorry. I could see you didn't want to leave me there."

He looked back at her, smiling faintly.

"Tell me, how would you feel if we made our own Brotherhood? We'll be on low profile, we'll do things our way. We won't abandon each other. Erik's taught us enough, we can manage." she proposed. Where the urge came from, he had no idea.

'_Could we?_ _Should_ _we?_' he thought, weighing his options. On one side, it would be nice to unite their kind again. On the other, Magneto might show up, and he wasn't ready to see him yet, not after all this time. Oh, and the X-Men would probably think them a threat and blow them to Kingdom Come.

"So, what'd he say? Are we a go on Brotherhood 2.0?" Multiple Man yelled from above ground.

He got to his feet, his decision made. "It's smart to band together in case another war ever comes around. Sure, why not? Let's get to work." he said, green-lighting the proposition.

**2 months ago**

They had recruited three mutants the past ten months. It seemed fewer and fewer mutants found their way to the forest. Their first was Sil, a black and green skinned, amphibious seventeen year-old. Gender-wise, Sil was a mystery. Appearing semi-amphibious meant no external genitalia, and just enough diminishment of defining qualities. Plus, the name wasn't exactly specific to a gender, and Sil's voice could go either way, a deep feminine or a high-pitched masculine. Multiple Man actually speculated mutant with the ability to breathe underwater was internally hermaphroditic. Pyro didn't buy into that, and Sil wouldn't confirm or deny it…wouldn't give them a human name either. They figured Sil enjoyed the attention.

About two months after Sil's recruitment, they brought in Jamile, sometimes known as Chameleon. He was 19, and kept his hair high and tight, like in the Armed Forces. When asked if he was a soldier or marine, Jamile laughed and said the recruiters wouldn't take him in due to being a mutant. His brown eyes were a lot like Pyro's, cold and ever-watchful, showing he too, had been forced to grow up early and on the run.

Then a whopping seven and a half months passed, and it was just the five of them. They got comfortable around each other, trusted each other. And then Sabrina came along, a woman of almost model beauty and complexion. Sky blue eyes, blonde hair down to her waist, plump lips, fair, creamy skin, but constantly wearing makeup. It didn't take a trained eye to show she had a nose job and fake boobs, either. When finding out about her, they learned she didn't take on a mutant name, even though she was 22. Her ability was aerokinesis: she could create and control wind. Pyro made the mistake of calling her gift dumb, only to be proven wrong when she blasted an abrupt, hurricane-force breeze at him. He struck a tree, almost suffering a concussion. She proved him the hell wrong, and she wouldn't let him live it down; she would brag and brag day in and day out until he had enough. Let's just say the two shared a violent altercation. She apologized to him the morning after their fight, still sporting a partially-visible black eye behind her sunglasses.

Two weeks later, their fourth recruit showed up, along with a long unseen face, Magneto. Mike's welcome was overshadowed by Magneto's arrival. The four members of the old Brotherhood looked at each other, none of them daring to speak first. The recruit and others knew the situation wasn't exactly friendly, and they backed off.

"You're still here." Magneto said, breaking the tension.

"Where else would we go?" Pyro asked, examining the looks of his old commander. Age was not treating him well, and neither was being cured for a while. It probably gave him an ulcer.

"I was happy to hear you made it out of Alcatraz alive, Pyro. And you, Mystique, look beautiful as ever." Magneto continued, sensing partial hostility.

"Bite me." she retorted, and stormed off.

Pyro watched her go before looking back at one of the country's most well-known mutant terrorists. "What she said. We're not forgiving you that easy. What you did to her, leaving me to die, not even bothering to help us out, it won't be forgotten." he said, keeping his rage in check. No need to scare off the new guy.

However, he wasn't a complete asshole. The guy wasn't able to survive on his own. "You can stay here only because _I_ allow it. But you're gonna have to make an effort if you want to be part of us again." he said, verbally marking the chain of command.


End file.
